The Imposter Complex, Chapter Thirty Two: Questions and Answers.

A/N: Surprise! In celebration of being a full two chapters ahead of schedule, I'm releasing this chapter a week early.

:-:-:-:-:

I knew not for how long I lay imprisoned in my stony tomb, staring blankly at the blackness before me. Attempts to escape were fruitless; my wand had been driven from my grasp by the rock, and wandless magic just wasn't enough.

I scowled into the dark. It was maddening, knowing that glorious battle had been joined and I was denied it. I was not even able to watch, my cautious, stealthy attempts to open the link between my mind and Lord Voldemort's failing. The connection remained a wispy fog to my waking mind.

Potter had still not regained consciousness, and so I was left with nothing but my own thoughts. It was not too unlike my time in the Long Dark, but with one exception. Uncomfortable as my prison was, I eventually managed to drift off to sleep.

Of course, irony being what it was, I dreamed of Lord Voldemort...

:—:

I gnashed my fangs with a black and burning fury, swirling about my new office in a brisk pace. I barely noticed as my still-bare feet splashed in the blood of the man who had been foolish enough to interrupt my contemplations.

My slender fingers traced across my bare chest; the twisted and blackened scar that wrapped across my entire torso. Dumbledore's work, marring my new body mere minutes after rebirth.

This concerned me little personally, for I had done away with such childish notions as physical vanity long ago. Indeed, I bore it with pride - I had duelled Albus Dumbledore to a standstill. The old man was losing his touch, whilst mine own powers could do naught else but grow!

Yet the boy had managed to defy me - again! It was beginning to become an embarrassment! I could feel the doubt beginning to seep into my followers, and I knew I would have to act soon to rip it back out.

Worse, I had lost my best-placed spy in Dumbledore's innermost circle. In the confusion of what the men were already calling the Battle of North Ronaldsay, those blighted Aurors had made off with the Scot. If they managed to figure out what had been done with her mind...

I would need to move forward swifter with the taking of Azkaban. Only Rookwood's expertise would allow us to overcome whatever countermeasures the Unspeakables might dream up for his little project. Doubtless he would be overjoyed to hear of its success as well...

Then there was that rebellious Horcrux of mine. Just to think about it made the blood seethe in my veins, made the iron torch brackets about the chamber wail and screech in protest as my fury threatened to rip them from their mounts.

I would find him, this "Thomas Grey". I would make him suffer a thousand lifetimes of agony for his treason. I knew his fears like I knew my own, and I would make him beg for them to be fulfilled before I was done...

:—:

I shot awake, instantly and unpleasantly alert. Ugh, I hated Rennervate.

I was in the Ministry, judging by the decor. A dingy little interrogation chamber. It was dimly lit, a single lantern overhead still swaying from being placed. A length of parchment lay on the table before me, a quill perched magic-perfect upon its surface.

I remained locked into this thick concrete. They had manipulated me into a sitting position without freeing me, though mercifully the head plates had retracted. I must have been in there a while, I was bloody hungry.

Across from me sat what I supposed would be my tribunal. Chief Auror Scrimgeour sat in the centre, flanked by Director Bones on one side, and Dumbledore on the other. None of them were saying anything.

Dumbledore had been through the wars, that much was clear. One arm sat in a sling, heavily bandaged, and he had a hastily-closed gash under his left eye, less than an inch from maiming him. It only enhanced his severe expression.

'Hello.' I said awkwardly. I shoved what I had just experienced in Lord Voldemort's head to the back of my mind. Time enough later to parse that if I survived this conversation. 'I'd offer to shake hands, but-'

'You think this is a joking matter?' Bones snapped, looking irritated already. Between us, the quill scurried across the parchment, recording what was said.

I paused. 'Well strictly speaking, I don't know what the matter at hand is yet.'

Bones slammed her fist down on the desk.

'Do not toy with us, boy! Any one of us would be well within our rights to execute you right here!'

Dumbledore raised his good hand placatingly. 'But we do not have to. Indeed, I would prefer to avoid that option if possible. You have proven that you are at least nominally opposed to Voldemort. Which is why we are prepared to hear you out.'

So Dumbledore was playing good cop, and Bones was playing bad cop. Which left Scrimgeour playing... what?

I didn't like the way he was looking at me. Too shrewd, too... reptilian. Too Slytherin. Dumbledore I could likely fool fairly easily if I needed to. I'd had plenty of practice. Bones probably too. This man? Perhaps not.

No matter. They all could play whatever games they liked, I'd had plenty of time to think out how this might go. They may the ones sitting comfortably, but I held all the cards.

'I am prepared to answer any questions that you have of me, Director Bones.' I said smoothly.

'Minister Bones.' She corrected. Oh?

I quirked an eyebrow. 'Moving up in the world, good for you.'

She scowled. 'Fudge was barely passable as a peacetime minister. I'd rather eat my own shoes than watch him try to be a wartime minister. We had him ousted at an emergency session of the Wizengamot last night. Martial law has been enacted.'

'Martial law? That's rather abrupt.' I'd have leaned back in my seat if I could. I supposed this likely meant Scrimgeour had been made Director of the DMLE as well.

She gave me a withering look. 'The reasons Lord Voldemort gathered so much momentum in the last war were Minister Jenkins refusing to take him seriously, and Minister Bagnold's passivity. I will not repeat their mistakes.'

They had settled into referring to his first rampage as "the last war" already.

'How long was I out? What else have I missed?'

'A day and a half. Enough questions out of you, this isn't a bloody press conference.'

I blinked. No wonder I was hungry. 'Very well. Make your interrogation then. I'm bloody starving.

Scrimgeour looked down at the Dictation Quill and spoke.

'Beginning interrogation of Tom Marvolo Riddle on this, the twenty ninth of September, nineteen ninety six, at one twenty four in the afternoon. Known aliases, Thomas Morgan Grey, Lord Voldemort-'

'I do not use that alias.' I objected swiftly.

'Which?'

'Lord Voldemort. I have also never publicly used any of the other aliases you are about to go rattling off either, save for Laurens De Sablé and Tamás Rejtvény.'

Okay yes, that last one was very obvious. I was fourteen at the time, of course it was bad.

'Very well. That leads rather nicely into our first topic.'

He leaned forward a little in his chair, meeting my gaze stonily.

'You assert that you are not, in fact, the original Tom Marvolo Riddle. You are claiming that you are a Horcrux created by him in nineteen forty three, is that correct?'

'That is correct.'

'Are you aware that per the Edict of Anathema ratified by the International Confederation of Wizards at Rome in seventeen twelve, any individual whom is found to be performing Higher Necromancy, of which the creation of a Horcrux constitutes, shall be subject to summary execution?'

I was surprised he had enough breath to complete that sentence.

'I am aware.'

'Then why should we refrain from doing so posthaste?!' Bones demanded coldly.

I held my gaze steady, clamping down once again on the instinctive thrill of fear before it showed. If they were intending to kill me over that alone, they would have done so already.

'Because I'm useful to you, of course. Even lost as he is to the depths of madness and depravity, I know Lord Voldemort better than anyone else alive. I'm also more effective a warrior than anyone your side can field short of this one.'

I jerked my head at Dumbledore.

'But most importantly...' I continued. 'I can save Potter.'

Bones let out a stout laugh. 'We've already saved Potter. He is in St Mungo's as we speak, under even heavier guard than you.'

'Oh I know. I saw his escape through his own eyes.'

Her own eyes narrowed to slits. 'What are you talking about?'

'I'm not a Seer, Bones. I don't get visions. I see through Potter's own eyes.' I let the smirk creep across my face. 'You may have saved him from the Lord Voldemort who roams freely. But what about the Lord Voldemort hiding out in his scar?'

Dumbledore blanched - actually blanched - at the statement, but the other two looked confused.

'What rubbish is this now?' Bones demanded, irritated. 'You've already told us that you are Voldemort's Horcrux.'

'I most certainly am. His first Horcrux, that is.'

Scrimgeour looked at me very intently. 'That is not plausible. No individual may create more than one Horcrux.'

I laughed derisively. 'Please. I figured the Arithmancy out at fifteen, it wasn't even that hard.'

'How many?' Dumbledore managed, looking like an Upir had drained him dry. 'How many did you make?'

'Me? One. You're looking at it. Lord Voldemort? I'm not sure. The plan was for six.'

'SIX!?' Bones cried in horror.

'Oh my yes. For a seven part soul. The most powerful magical number of course. The most likely to allow him to attain metastability with his soul in so many chunks.

Only Scrimgeour remained unstricken. He merely frowned.

'Why would Voldemort want to kill Potter if a seventh of his own soul would be destroyed in the process?'

I tried to shrug, which wound up with me ducking my head in a foolish-looking motion.

'That, I do not know. Hell, I don't even know how he got the opportunity to make the boy one in the first place. Perhaps Lord Voldemort pursues him for the same reason he did not layer Potter with the same enchantments that imbue the others. From what I can tell, the boy has no magical protections upon him save those laid by his mother. Perhaps Lord Voldemort wishes to reclaim the fragment from a weak and vulnerable host.'

Bones spoke up, still pale. 'So Voldemort has four more horcruxes strewn across the world, which could be literally anywhere and anything?'

I shook my head. 'No. Lord Voldemort began losing his marbles shortly after we parted ways. Of the ones I've discovered, all save for myself and Potter were stored in famous artefacts, and hidden in places that would be accessible to the Dark Lord. I think he got paranoid of losing one of us.'

Bones rallied. 'Of the ones you've discovered? So you've done some of the job already?

'Oh certainly!' I said. 'An old Gaunt family relic, and Helga Hufflepuff's Chalice. Ate the soul pieces in them too.'

'Ate?' Dumbledore interjected sharply. 'What do you mean "ate"?'

'I absorbed them into myself, destroying their personalities in the process.'

'That's not how that works!' He objected. 'The Horcrux ritual can only be reversed one way: Genuine remorse. You clearly lack that.'

I sneered. 'For lay idiots who found the ritual in some medieval textbook, perhaps. I learned it from the source, Herpo the Foul's own notes and experiments. Between his original equations and my own, I understand Horcruxes better than anyone else, ever.'

Scrimgeour, seeing Dumbledore gearing up for a technical discussion, intervened. 'We can discuss the exact mechanics of the matter later. But you claim you can use this technique on Harry Potter?'

I tilted my head. 'Yes and no. All I would need is to touch his scar. But doing so, and retaining contact long enough to remove the Horcrux, would be my doom.'

'Sacrificium Sanguinare...' Dumbledore murmured to himself. 'It extended to you as well?'

I nodded. 'Found that out the hard way.'

His eyes narrowed. 'It was you. You whom attacked Harry in Hogsmeade three years ago.'

I didn't blink. 'I needed a well-matched wand. He can have it back now if he wishes, I have since recovered my own. But that's not the point. Lord Voldemort overcame this protection on him. I'm not sure how, but if I can replicate it, cleansing Potter should be fairly simple.'

'It was his blood.' Dumbledore explained. 'The protection permeates every cell of Harry's body. By using his blood in the Ritual of Incarnation, Voldemort made himself a protected party as well.'

'Well then, I think we have the beginnings of a deal. A sample of Potter's blood, and immunity from my other self's transgressions, in exchange for saving his life and full cooperation in bringing Lord Voldemort to justice.'

Dumbledore shook his head. 'That would not work. Voldemort infused his entire self with Harry's blood. A mere transfusion wouldn't be sufficient.'

I flicked my head dismissively. 'Shouldn't be a problem.'

Bones scowled. 'Even discounting Voldemort's actions, you have murdered six innocent people that we are aware of. You are plum mad if you think we will just allow you to walk free.'

I sneered. 'I think you have little room to debate over it. Lord Voldemort walks freely once again. How long do you suppose before he starts to use the mental connection? How long before he decides to start experimenting with little Harry Potter's mind?'

Dumbledore looked to Bones. 'Amelia...'

'Don't "Amelia" me, Dumbledore! I got through fourteen years as Director of Law Enforcement without making a single rotten plea bargain, and I don't intend to start now!'

Scrimgeour held up a hand. 'We have found ourselves rather off-topic, Minister, Headmaster. I believe that was mister Riddle's intention, no less.'

Bones frowned. 'Quite right, Rufus. Back to the subject at hand then.'

She glanced down at her notepad.

'So Lord Voldemort created you, with whose death?'

I laughed sourly. 'You expect me to confess to murder, Minister?'

She gave me a withering look. 'I sincerely doubt a single one of your other crimes could earn you a higher penalty than the mere fact that you exist, Horcrux.'

A fair point. I looked down at my feet.

'Sandra McKellan. A muggle.' I muttered, as if the distinction would matter to them. As if it would make me feel better about it. The only true innocent I had murdered on purpose.

'Tell us about Sandy.' Dumbledore said carefully. A long pause followed.

'She lived in Dufftown. I would visit the town from time to time, sneak away from Hogwarts for a laugh. She caught my eye, we hung about for a couple months. Then I killed her.'

That was understating things dramatically. Sandy McKellan was...

The Horcrux ritual is rather more demanding than most people believe. More than a few individuals over the millennia since its invention have gotten themselves killed off too-vague instructions.

The Horcrux ritual has three base criteria for the victim used. Three mandatory traits they must possess, else the ritual would fail, the soul would not be fully rent in twain, and the residual energies gathered would erupt and destroy the user.

The first, is that they could not be somebody that you feel enmity towards. You can't, say, turn taking out a rival into the creation of a Horcrux. Ideally it'd be someone you actually liked.

The second, is that they must not be too "tainted" by cruel thoughts and deeds. That is, they must be someone you consider to be a genuinely good person.

The third, is that they must know you personally. You could not simply pluck somebody off the street.

But that is is the standard ritual. My modifications, the ones that would allow multiple separations of the soul, required something more for the first sacrifice. After that, each subsequent murder would be less stringent in its requirements as my soul became lesser and lesser, but that first death needed to be something... crueller. The victim would have to trust me implicitly. They would have to love me.

Sandy McKellan was all of those things. I had made it so.

I'd justified it to myself in so many ways. It was easier to do it back then, when I was less practised at crushing my fears, when the prickle of the Scythe lingered against the back of my neck at every waking moment.

Easier still when I'd been a fraction of a man, before I'd begun reclaiming my Horcruxes.

I seldom allowed myself to recall those times spent in Dufftown. Simpler to occlude them. A lot of the time I outright forgot it. Reliving the memories of my time with Sandy would serve no purpose to me. But now they had come rushing unbidden to the fore.

I wonder what could have been, had my fears not consumed me so. Would I still have ended up along the same path as Lord Voldemort, or would my original plans have held true?

'-iddle. Riddle, are you trying to be funny?'

I looked back up, shook from my reverie. 'No. Sorry. Old memories. What were you saying?'

Bones looked annoyed again. 'I asked you what you did with the body.'

'Oh. Er, Lord Voldemort Vanished it after the ritual was complete. He was careful to leave no trace, though I suppose he was not as thorough as he'd thought.' I remarked, looking to Dumbledore. He merely gazed back at me.

'Right. What happened to you after the ritual then?'

Over the better part of two hours, they eked my tale out of me. My possession of Ginny Weasley, of which they already were aware. I framed it as though it had always been my intention to spare her.

I told them of my escape from the Chamber. How I made my way to Garrow, and decided to oppose Lord Voldemort. I glossed over a few of the nastier aspects; the murdering of the two-bit crooks I'd encountered, the taking possession of multiple muggles to sustain myself. Something told me these details wouldn't play well with this crowd. I was especially careful to omit the Stroj na golema.

It felt... good, to actually tell someone my tale, in full and almost-unedited. Cathartic, almost. Once I got started, I almost couldn't stop.

I reiterated how I'd discovered Sirius, how we had worked together, our adventures. I left out a few details here too, the House of the Rising Sun, the robbery at Gringotts, but they didn't seem to notice.

I spoke of how I started to experience what I initially thought to be visions, first of Potter, then of Lord Voldemort. I made sure to emphasise how without my intervention, Potter would have fallen into Lord Voldemort's hands far earlier, and without hope of rescue.

I didn't linger much on Grindelwald debacle either. They knew everything of importance there already.

Finally, I concluded on my trip to Rome, and what I'd discovered there. By the time I'd finished talking, my tongue felt like sandpaper in my mouth.

'...Now can I please get some gods-damned water, I am parched. Something to eat as well.'

'You'll drink when we say you can.' Bones snapped. She looked to her compatriots. 'Are we ready to confer?'

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. Scrimgeour as well, though more slowly.

The Headmaster jabbed his wand at me, and stony plates filled my vision again.

'No, no, n-!'

They sealed closed, blocking out all light, all sound. Fucking hell...

:—:

Still, this at last gave me time to think about what I had seen just before the interrogation.

That Lord Voldemort now knew of my existence - knew, and intended to hunt me down like a dog - sent a horrible thrill of fear across my entire body, and I knew already what would haunt my night terrors for the immediate future.

I shook my head what little I could, dismissing the thoughts as I had dismissed those of McKellan.

Actionable data, I needed to focus on what was useful. Azkaban, he intended to strike at Azkaban. Bones and Scrimgeour would need to know, of they chose to spare me. Perhaps some sort of trap could be laid...

:—:

After an indeterminate amount of time, but one that certainly didn't feel long enough to decide the fate of their fellow man, the plates retracted once more. Better still, the stone kept retracting, slithering back off my skin until I was left sitting normally in a hard wooden chair.

The seats across the table from me were empty. Before me sat a pitcher of water, and a plate of sandwiches.

I immediately swept up the pitcher and downed half of it in one go. It was lukewarm, and slightly salty, but blimey it hit the spot. I snatched a sandwich, and bit into it greedily. My nose wrinkled in disgust. Polony and tomato sauce. Had they not punished me enough?

Vile as it was, it was food, and I scarfed it down as quick as I could before they decided to take it away from me.

That they'd let me out of the stone was a great sign. They didn't consider me an escape risk, at the very least. Of course, I had no wand and they had Dumbledore, so it was a bit of an empty gesture either way. I doubt he'd be foolish enough to make the same mistake with me that he made with Grindelwald.

Even still, it showed their leanings.

Perhaps twenty minutes after I finished my unpleasant meal, my captors finally returned, Scrimgeour leading the way. I said nothing as they settled into their seats, merely watching their faces.

Minister Bones was the first to speak.

'This is not an exoneration.'

The words seemed to hang in the air.

'This... is a stay of execution. Your existence is an abomination, Tom Riddle. A crime against the laws of both our country, and of nature. Under most circumstances, we would feed you to the Dementors and think little else of it.'

Dumbledore nodded gravely along with her. Scrimgeour remained a statue.

'However. These are not most circumstances. We are at war, with a foe whom, frankly, we are not at all prepared to fight. Which is why, with a few provisos, we are willing to push your case down the line to whatever future point Lord Voldemort is dealt with, and re-assess things then. If you prove yourself worthy of a second chance, you may well get one.'

I grinned. I knew they'd realise they needed me. Needed my knowledge, if nothing else.

'And what "provisos" are these then?' I asked, doing my level best to keep the smugness from my face.

'An Unbreakable Vow.' Scrimgeour said bluntly.

I scowled deeply. 'You're joking.'

His expression was stony. 'I don't joke.'

Muggleborns, when they first hear of Unbreakable Vows, often think they're the most underused things in the world. "After all," they say, "why not just get everyone in the country to make an Unbreakable Vow never to murder someone, or use Dark Magic?"

Their optimism was usually quickly dashed upon learning more about the spell. Being bound by an Unbreakable Vow sucked. The sensation was an itch that you could not scratch, all day and all night, ever seated in the corner of your mind, constantly and unwelcomely reminding you that your will was no longer your own. More than a few weaker individuals over the centuries had intentionally broken their Vows just to make the ache of it cease.

To offer oneself to be bound by one was one of the strongest shows of conviction that could be offered. To be asked to do so was among the gravest insults known.

I snarled. 'Go to hell.'

'Then we have no other recourse than to execute you.' Scrimgeour replied without a shred of emotion.

I rounded on Dumbledore. 'Where is the champion of the free now? Demanding slavery, it seems! And I thought back at Denison that you could sink no lower.'

Dumbledore had the gall to look regretful. 'This is not slavery, Tom. Merely a temporary measure to ensure that you do not betray us the moment an opportunity arises.'

'Opportunity has arisen.' I spat. 'A dozen times over. I have not wavered. There is nothing that Lord Voldemort can offer to me that I would not rather take from him by force.'

'Whatever your deeds or convictions, your forebear's reputation dwarfs them. I am sorry, but this is the way it must be.'

I spat on the table between us. 'Fuck your sorries. I'll take the sodding Vow. But you're my binding partner.

Dumbledore's expression didn't change. 'I accept the burden.'

:—:

The ceremony was performed before the assembled Wizengamot, as was the custom. Forty-seven wizards and witches in robes of deep plum sat in a high circle above us in their vaunted thrones.

The forty-eighth, Bones, stood down in the well, next to the short table that lay between myself and the forty-ninth. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Gods, what a stupid name.

The odor of old magic already had began to cloy in the air about us, the chamber recognising what was about to take place, the binding whose like it had seen many times before.

We clasped hands, his feeling all too delicate in my own. My strength was unbound here; I could have crushed him with the barest flicker of effort. Yanked him over the table at me and caved in his skull before anyone could even react.

But I didn't. I just glared balefully into his cerulean eyes, daring him to try to read my thoughts. He didn't take the bait.

Minister Bones touched the tip of her wand to where our hands met. The Vow was begun. The words had already been agreed upon. All that was left was to speak them.

'Will you, Tom, fight the Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers?' Dumbledore's voice rumbled with a gravitas buoyed by something more than himself.

'I will.' I said, just as gravely.

A single tongue of flame darted forth from Bones' wand, twining itself about our forearms.

'Will you do all that you can to see him captured, or his personality destroyed?'

'I will.'

A second tongue wrapped around us.

'And will you, upon his defeat, present yourself to the Wizengamot to be judged anew?'

An ugly expression flickered across my face, for just the barest of moments.

'I will.'

:-:-:-:-:

A/N: My apologies for not providing the Voldemort v. Dumbledore throwdown that several of you were hoping for. That will have to come later. Hopefully another early chapter makes up for it!

According to JKR, Dumbledore first discovered for certain that Harry was a Horcrux during the events of the Order of the Phoenix. He may have had his suspicions before, but that was when he knew it concretely. In this universe, he never received that confirmation, until now.

As for Scrimgeour, I never liked his character in the books. He's introduced as this no-nonsense Anti-Fudge who you think is finally going to actually take action against the Death Eaters in a meaningful way. But then he turns out to be this weird pseudo-McCarthyist who goes around arresting randos to impress the masses instead of actually doing his job.

So my vision of Scrimgeour is a little different.

Don't forget to drop ya boy a review.